CHAPTER 4 WOLF
WOLF
Aweek. Seven days of avoiding Quinn Jenkins, and I was about to lose my goddamn mind.
After that night at the gas station, I'd made myself scarce. Stopped going to Bea's for breakfast. Took the long way around town to avoid the sheriff's station. Even skipped Buck's twice when Phoenix mentioned seeing her cruiser in the lot.
Because if I saw her again, if she looked at me with those eyes full of want and denial, I was going to do something that would probably get me shot by Sheriff Jenkins.
The mountain road curved ahead of me, empty at midnight on a Wednesday.
I'd been riding for two hours, trying to burn off the frustration that had been building since I'd touched her face at the Quick Stop.
The way she'd leaned into my hand, trembling, lying about being cold when we both knew exactly why she shook.
My bike ate up the asphalt, engine roaring in the silence. Up here, I could think. Or try not to think. Try not to imagine what she'd feel like pressed against me on this bike. Try not to imagine what sounds she'd make if I finally got my hands on her properly.
Christ. Even two hours of hard riding hadn't cleared my head.
The road straightened out, and that's when I saw it. Taillights ahead, hazards flashing. A sheriff's cruiser pulled onto the narrow shoulder, hood popped.
My chest went tight. Could be any of the deputies. Pike Creek had three cruisers, four deputies including Quinn. Odds were against it being her.
But I already knew. Call it instinct or fate or just dumb fucking luck, but I knew.
I slowed as I approached, and there she was. Standing by the dead cruiser in her uniform, hands on her hips, looking like she wanted to murder the engine block. Her hair was coming loose from its bun, wisps framing her face in the cruiser's dome light.
She turned at the sound of my bike, and the expression that crossed her face—relief, frustration, and raw need all tangled together—nearly made me drive off the road.
I pulled up behind the cruiser, killing the engine. For a moment, we just stared at each other. A week of avoidance, and here we were again. The universe really did have a twisted sense of humor.
"Let me guess," I said, pulling off my helmet. "You ignored the grinding noise."
"The department mechanic said it was fine." She crossed her arms, defensive. "Said cruisers always make weird noises."
"The department mechanic is an idiot." I swung off the bike, moving to the hood. Same problem as I'd suspected—alternator finally gave up, taking the battery with it. "When did it die?"
"Twenty minutes ago. My phone has no signal up here, and the radio's dead with the battery." She moved closer, and I caught her scent—that same jasmine under the leather and gun oil. "I was hoping someone would drive by."
"On this road? At midnight?" I shook my head. "You could be here for hours."
"You were heading home?"
"Yeah. Late shift." She moved closer, and I caught her scent—that same jasmine under the leather and gun oil. "You?"
"Riding. Clearing my head."
"At midnight?"
"Couldn't sleep." I straightened from the engine, turning to face her fully. "Haven't been sleeping much lately."
The admission hung between us. She knew why. The same reason she had shadows under her eyes, the same reason her uniform looked like she'd been fidgeting with it all shift.
"Wolf—"
"Don't." I cut her off. "Whatever excuse or reason or logic you're about to throw at me, just don't. I'm too tired and too wound up to hear it again."
"I wasn't going to make excuses."
"No?"
She shook her head, taking another step closer. "I was going to say I haven't been sleeping either."
The words hit me like a punch. Three weeks of this dance, and she was finally admitting what we both knew.
"Quinn—"
"I tried staying away," she said quietly. "This whole week, I tried. Took different routes. Changed my shifts. But you're everywhere anyway. In my head. Under my skin. I can't—" Her voice cracked. "I can't stop wanting you."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"You think I feel any differently?” The words came out rougher than intended. "You think I haven't been going crazy? I've beaten my heavy bag until my knuckles bled. I've ridden hundreds of miles trying to outrun this. Nothing works. Nothing makes it stop."
We stood there on that dark mountain road, everything finally laid bare. No more pretense. No more denials. Just the truth that had been killing us both.
"This is such a bad idea," she whispered, but she was already moving closer.
"The worst," I agreed, backing her against the cruiser.
"My father will lose his mind."
"Probably."
"The whole town will talk."
"Definitely."
"I could lose my job."
"You won't." My hands came up to frame her face, thumbs stroking over her cheekbones. "But even if you did, would it be worth it to stop feeling like this? To stop wanting something you can't have?"
She looked up at me, and I saw the exact moment she broke.
"Yes."
The word was barely out before I crashed my mouth onto hers.
Three weeks of foreplay disguised as antagonism exploded into pure need. She kissed me back with equal desperation, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. Her tongue swept into my mouth, and I groaned, pressing her harder against the cruiser.
She tasted like everything I'd been craving. My hands tangled in her hair, pins scattering as I freed it from the bun. Dark waves spilled over my fingers, and she made a sound that went straight to my cock.
"Been wanting to do that since the traffic stop," I muttered against her lips.
"Shut up and kiss me again."
I did, deeper this time, one hand gripping her hip while the other cradled her jaw. She arched against me, and I could feel her trembling—not from cold this time.
My mouth traveled down her throat, finding that spot below her ear that made her gasp. Her hands slid under my shirt, nails raking across my abs, and my control started to splinter.
"Fuck, Quinn—"
"Back seat." The words came out breathless, desperate. "Now."
I pulled back enough to look at her. "You sure?"
"I swear to God, Wolf, if you stop now—"
I yanked open the back door of the cruiser, and she practically shoved me inside. The space was cramped, not meant for this, but I didn't give a fuck. She climbed in after me, straddling my lap, and my brain short-circuited.
Deputy Quinn Jenkins, Sheriff's daughter, the woman who'd been driving me insane for three weeks, was in my lap in the back of a police cruiser, looking at me like she wanted to devour me.
"This is probably illegal," she said, hands already working at my belt.
"Definitely illegal." I caught her wrists, stilling her movements. "Slow down, sweetheart."
"I don't want slow." She rocked against me, and I groaned. "I've wanted slow for three weeks. I'm done with slow."
"Quinn—"
She kissed me to shut me up, tongue sweeping into my mouth, and my control cracked. My hands found the buttons of her uniform shirt, working them open one by one, revealing simple white cotton underneath that somehow looked sexier than any lingerie I'd ever seen.
"You're killing me," I muttered against her throat, sucking a mark just above where her collar would hide it.
"Good." She yanked my shirt up, nails raking across my abs. "You've been killing me for weeks."
I found the zipper of her uniform pants, and she lifted up enough for me to work them down her hips. The space was cramped, my head brushing the roof, but neither of us cared.
"Fuck, look at you." My hands mapped her thighs, her hips, the curve of her waist. "So fucking perfect."
"Stop talking," she demanded, grinding down against me through our remaining clothes. The friction made us both gasp.
"Make me."
She kissed me again, fiercer this time, and while she was distracted I slipped my hand between us, finding her through the cotton of her panties. She was already wet, already ready, and when I pressed my thumb against her clit, she cried out.
"That's it," I encouraged, working her through the fabric. "Want to watch you come apart."
"Wolf, please—"
"Not yet." I kept the pressure steady, watching her face as she chased her release. "Been thinking about this for three weeks. I'm going to savor every fucking second."
She was close, I could tell by the way her thighs trembled, the way her breathing went ragged. Just when she was about to tip over, I stopped.
"You bastard," she panted.
"You love it."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." I slipped my fingers under the edge of her panties, finding her slick and swollen. "You're just frustrated. There's a difference."
I worked her again, two fingers sliding inside while my thumb circled her clit. She rode my hand, movements getting desperate, chasing the release I kept just out of reach.
"Please," she begged. "Wolf, please, I need—"
"I know what you need." I curled my fingers, finding that spot that made her whole body jerk. "Come for me, Quinn. Let me feel it."
She shattered, crying out my name, internal muscles clenching around my fingers. I worked her through it, drawing it out until she collapsed against my chest, panting.
"Holy shit," she breathed.
"We're just getting started." I finally freed myself from my jeans, and her hand immediately wrapped around me. "Fuck—"
"My turn," she said, stroking slowly, learning what made me groan, what made my hips jerk. "Three weeks of wondering what you'd feel like."
"And?"
"Better than I imagined." She rose up on her knees, shoving her panties aside. "And I imagined a lot."
She positioned herself, and we both froze, eyes locked. Three weeks of foreplay, of denial, of want, all coming down to this moment.
She sank down slowly, taking me inch by inch, and we both groaned. She was tight, hot, perfect, and I had to grab her hips to keep from thrusting up into her.
"Oh God," she breathed, forehead pressed to mine. "You're so—you feel so—"
"I know." My hands tightened on her hips. "Take your time."
She did, adjusting to me, then started to move. Slow at first, finding her rhythm, what angle worked in the cramped space. When she found it—when she found the angle that made her gasp—she rode me harder.
"That's it," I encouraged, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through the cotton bra. "Take what you need."
She did, using my body for her pleasure, and it was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. Quinn Jenkins, coming apart in my lap, uniform half off, taking what she wanted without apology.
My control started to fracture. Three weeks of wanting her, and now having her like this—it was too much. I could feel my release building, unstoppable.
"Quinn, I'm gonna—"
"Not yet." She slowed her movements, grinding instead of riding, keeping us both on edge. "I want more. I want everything."
"Greedy," I accused, but I loved it. Loved that she wanted this as much as I did.
"You made me wait three weeks," she said, rolling her hips in a way that had me seeing stars. "You can last a little longer."
She rode me slow, then fast, then slow again, keeping us both balanced on the knife's edge of release. My hands roamed her body, learning every curve, every sensitive spot that made her gasp.
"I can't—" She was close again, movements getting erratic. "Wolf, I can't—"
"Yes, you can." I slipped my hand between us, finding her clit. "Come for me again. Want to feel you."
She shattered, harder this time, crying out so loud I was sure anyone passing would hear. The feeling of her coming around me, the way she clenched and pulsed—I couldn't hold back anymore.
My release hit like a freight train, and I buried my face in her neck, groaning her name as I came. She held me through it, fingers in my hair, whispers I couldn't quite hear over the roaring in my ears.
We stayed there, both trembling, bodies still joined, neither willing to separate just yet.
"Holy shit," she breathed.
"Yeah."
"We just—"
"Yeah."
Reality crashed over her face like cold water. "Oh God. Oh fuck. What did I—"
She scrambled off my lap, yanking her pants up, fingers shaking as she tried to button her shirt. "This was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake."
"Quinn—"
"I'm a cop!" She wouldn't look at me, fumbling with her zipper. "You're MC. My father is the sheriff. This can't—this never should have—"
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I sat up, yanking my jeans back into place. "You wanted this as much as I did."
"That doesn't make it right!" She finally looked at me, panic replacing the satisfaction that had been there moments before. "This can't happen, Wolf. It can never happen again."
"Bullshit."
"It's not bullshit, it's reality." She was fully dressed now, or as dressed as she could be with her hair wild and lips swollen. "I have a job. A reputation. I can't be the deputy who's fucking the VP of the Pike Creek Riders."
"You just were."
"That was—" She stopped, pressing her hands to her face. "That was temporary insanity. Three weeks of... of whatever this is making me crazy. But it's done now. We got it out of our systems."
I laughed, harsh and disbelieving. "Out of our systems? You think that's how this works?"
"It has to be."
We stared at each other in the dark cruiser, the smell of sex still heavy in the air, both of us breathing hard for entirely different reasons now.
"Fine." I pulled out my phone, done with this conversation. "You want to pretend this never happened? Your choice."
"What are you doing?"
"Calling the sheriff's department." I found the non-emergency number, hit dial. "Yeah, this is Wolf McCarthy. Found Deputy Jenkins broken down on Mountain Road, mile marker 47. Alternator's shot... Yeah, she's ok…yeah, I’ll wait with her.”
I hung up, meeting her shocked gaze. "There. Now you're covered. Just another Good Samaritan helping a stranded deputy."
"Wolf—"
"Save it." I climbed out of the cruiser, needing air, needing distance from her and her regrets. "You want to pretend this meant nothing? That we didn't just burn up together? Your call."
She followed me out, standing by her dead cruiser looking lost. "It's not that simple."
"It's exactly that simple. You either want this or you don't." I swung onto my bike, starting the engine. "Looks like you don't."
"Where are you going? You said you'd wait—"
"Changed my mind. Backup's coming. You' can handle yourself right?” I revved the engine. "Sorry this wasn't what you wanted, Deputy Jenkins."
"That's not—" But I couldn't hear the rest over the roar of my bike.
I drove away, watching her in my mirrors—standing there by that broken-down cruiser, looking small and alone in the darkness. Part of me wanted to turn around, to fight harder, to make her admit what we both knew.
But she'd made her choice.
And I was done begging Quinn Jenkins to want me.
Even if we both knew she already did.